


The Azure Sky before Sunrise

by Marshmallows



Category: Granblue Fantasy (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-18 19:55:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17587361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marshmallows/pseuds/Marshmallows
Summary: It's the first train in the morning, that time when night and day are still intertwined and no one wants to be heading off to work; but Vane always looks for the stranger with his nose buried in a book.





	The Azure Sky before Sunrise

**Author's Note:**

> For the [Valentine's exchange](https://twitter.com/GBFvalentines)! Based on their [AGF 2017](https://www.cygames.co.jp/agf2017/#gbf) outfits, and a plot bunny I've had for ages but didn't know how to use until these prompts! It's a bit of a different dynamic because of the AU setting, but I hope it's still cute and fluffy!!

He wasn’t hard to miss.

On the first train that morning, a stranger sat down opposite him, and only one word came to mind. 

Clad in a suit the colour of the night sky, he looked as if he had been ripped right out of a fashion magazine, only to be dropped into this drab world full of ordinary folk still half asleep. While others had their eyes closed for a chance to claim back their time, he was enraptured by a battered book in his hands, legs neatly crossed as he turned the pages over. He gave no quarter to any potential distractions, sweeping his hand back as soon as his hair fell into his face: a mess of curls the colour of ink that clashed with his otherwise tidy appearance. 

Outside, the sky was aflame in streaks of pink and gold; but not even the gentle call of cotton candy clouds could stop him from staring at the man before him. 

There was only one word he could think of. 

“Beautiful…” Vane mumbled, like he was witnessing one of nature’s wonders.

* * *

He would have been another face filed away into his memories and repurposed into dreams; but he noticed him the next morning, and the next, and the next one after next. He wasn’t hard to miss, and certainly hard to ignore. He would walk in a few stops after his own arrival, weaving through the surge of newcomers with his eyes still glued to his book, to settle down into any available nook. Sometimes he’d be against a wall, sometimes that spot would be right next to him. His leg would bump against his, as was law on all crowded public transport, and Vane would move his aside to give him more room. That was the extent of their interaction as strangers passing each other by.

It was when the occasional glance became thoughts persisting into his work that he realised something was happening, catching himself lingering on the stranger as the heels of his hands kneaded into bread dough. He’d remember how he was eating a chocolate bar, and frown as he fretted over a stranger’s choice of breakfast. Every morning started the same way: Vane found his eyes drawn to him whenever he caught a glimpse of his hair, and then he’d have to leave before ever knowing his destination. He had thought it was because of his looks, a portrait to admire from afar, but there was something else that added to this puzzle.

His hair was a prelude to how untamed he truly was, as Vane began to notice that he’d wear mismatched socks, how shirts went unironed, and his diet only seemed to consist of pre-packaged sweets. Though Vane knew nothing about him other than his appearance, he realised he was developing feelings about the state of his laundry. 

Vane yawned one morning, and though his eyes had never left his book, the stranger followed suit. He was wearing glasses that day, gold and blue frames that hid his eyebags. He wondered if they were a result of staying up much too late, of overworking, of fatigue. The way he never seemed to notice anything else seemed to imply he had an unshakable determination. He wondered what he worked as.

As the mornings grew lighter and the stranger had become a permanent fixture of his morning commute, Vane chanced an attempt to make out the lettering on the book’s spine, tilting his head as he furrowed his brow. He had almost slid off his own seat when the stranger straightened up, giving him a much better view that prompted a smile across his face.

It turned out that _Granblue Fantasy_ was about the adventures of a captain and their crew, travelling across a world that lived in the skies. Almost all of his books were of a similar nature: depicting heroes and knights, and all the trials and tribulations they had to overcome across epic, sprawling fantasy lands. He tore through them within days, switching between volumes that were all several centimetres thick, and even though this made him seem studious, Vane knew that this prim and proper stranger held more than a hint of eccentricity. 

Vane tried doing the reading in the morning thing too, settling down onto the cold steel of his train seat with a title of the stranger’s choosing, but he found his eyes always wandering back to the man in front of him instead. Books made for great cover however. When he noticed him move even the slightest bit, he’d duck back under the pages, even though the words would prove nothing more than a distraction to the main attraction. 

He felt like his curiosity would eat away at him soon, but to disturb someone so suddenly felt contrary to his nature. Vane wasn’t a shy person by any means. He’d offer a smile to any customer any time of the day, and somehow had regulars that came to the bakery purely to chat up a storm. He was interested, he was concerned; but the stranger was happy in his own world and who was he to disrupt that. 

That was what he had thought, at least.

It was on a day when Vane had peeked over his shoulder that he noticed the stranger was staring right at him. He realised it much too late, lost in a moment of envisioning sprawling green valleys, only to return back to reality and confront eyes the colour of the ocean. Vane yelped as his heart leapt out of his chest, the shock of being discovered hurtling him back into the passenger next to him. He spluttered out apology after apology; but over the sound of his own voice, he heard the most magical sound. 

The stranger was giggling, and Vane wondered about all the ways he could hear that melody again.

Quietly, Vane mustered all his courage to turn back round, only to find that the stranger had already retreated back into his book. The only sign that something had disturbed their regular routine was a hint of a smile lingering on his lips.

He hadn’t imagined it though. It was the first time he had properly seen his face. There weren’t any glasses to hide away his eyes, no shadows obscuring the view. He was stunningly pretty, with a complexion as pristine as freshly fallen snow, with eyes as bright as crystal clear lakes. 

He was beautiful. 

But he already knew that. It had been weeks since their first encounter, moments since they had first acknowledged each other. He had already decided that he was easy on the eyes at first sight; but he didn’t know the man behind the fantasy books, the man who thought chocolate was an acceptable food group. Vane made sure to stare fixedly out the window the rest of that commute.

The next morning, Vane turned automatically at the announcement of his station – only for the world to stop when he realised he was staring right back at him. He held a smile like melted caramel, that sent his heart aflutter and sealed his mouth shut, as he watched him sit down pointedly next to him. He was curling a strand of hair round his finger as he opened up his book, but when Vane dared to glance at him out the corner of his eye, he noticed the stranger was holding it out, bridging the space between them.

Vane sat glued to his seat, his heart racing as he ran through every solution in his head, when he quietly pulled out his own book in the intermediary. It took an agonisingly long while as time crawled past, but eventually the stranger retracted back into his own lap, and Vane finally let go of the breath he didn’t even realise he was holding. They remained as strangers in their own little worlds, even as Vane realised his book was upside down.

* * *

“Sorry…”

That was his first word to him. Vane immediately wanted to run to the next train carriage.

They were currently stood by the doors, on a busy train a day before the holidays, their seats previously offered up in forfeit. Vane, with his soft spot for the elderly, had shot up as soon as he had noticed an old lady hobble through the doors; only to lock eyes with the suited stranger now standing with him. He had barely heard her thanks as they stared each other down, as if they were the only ones to exist on this bustling train – until someone else had decided the stranger’s seat was now his. In defeat, they retreated to a corner, sandwiched on all sides by the crowd. 

He certainly wasn’t stood this close by choice, and he certainly didn’t smell vaguely like peppermint.

“Don’t be,” he then said, and Vane’s heart performed several somersaults.

Vane found his mouth was useless as he watched the trajectory of his hand: a glimpse of his delicate fingers as he slipped his book into his briefcase, then arched through the air to tuck his hair behind his ear. He was looking right at him, a smile on his lips, and in the reflection of his eyes, Vane swore he saw himself sweating.

“Uh, hey,” Vane said, his words spilling out of his mouth, “It’s nice to finally be able to talk to you!” Vane stopped himself for a moment, now desperately aware of the blaze of his cheeks, “I mean, well, not like that… It’s nice to meet you!”

That wondrous laugh came out of his lips again, like a wind chime in a breeze, before he offered his hand forward, “Nice to meet you too…”

Vane stared at him a second too long; until he grasped his fingers tight, his hand eclipsing his.

“Vane.”

“Lancelot.”

“Lan-chan!” Vane gasped, as everything clicked into place, “You’re so cute.”

“What?”

“Uh,” Vane said, a weight dropping into the pit of his stomach. He tried his best: tried to look anywhere else but him, tried to pull away, tried to edge along the wall, “Hey, look, my stop.”

Lancelot didn’t let go however: his hold growing tighter, pulling him back, “What did you call me?”

“Lan-chan!” Vane spluttered, all too aware of the beating of his heart, the heat against his cheeks, his hand, “It’s uh… because…”

“First, it’s Lancelot. Second, ‘cute’,” Lancelot said, advancing with every step, until he had covered their distance like Vane had barely moved, “ _I’m_ the one who’s cute?”

“I, uh…” Vane said, his brain officially offline, “ _What_ …”

“Vane.”

He froze. His name in his voice was a shot right through his heart.

In the moment he dared to turn back round, the ground shifted under his feet. Vane stumbled against the rocking of the train, swaying without an anchor, and only when everything had stopped did he register that it was someone – not something – that was now keeping him steady. 

Height wise, Lancelot wasn’t that much smaller, possibly only two or three centimetres shorter, but that only made things so much more dangerous. He barely recognised the weight against his chest when there were more pressing matters at hand – the colour of his eyes, the scent of his aftershave, his breath against his cheek.

“I’m sorry, I’m really sorry!” Vane spluttered as they both sprang apart. He shrank further into himself as he heard grumbles from the crowd around them – but Vane had to escape before Lancelot had time to react, and he slipped through the gaps before he could catch hold of him again.

It had happened all too fast, a sequence of events collapsing into one another like dominoes, until he, the final piece, tumbled out of the train doors, and he was left alone at an unknown stop.

* * *

Other than burying himself into the ground and never, ever leaving, Vane had to do something. Vane learned that day that getting off on the wrong stop meant that walking was out of the question. He couldn’t escape the first train in the morning, he couldn’t change his identity and become a whole different person – but he could perhaps take another carriage. 

It was a precarious plan, but Vane needed a temporary measure to restore the balance of his heart.

He didn’t know when it had started. He only knew that the stranger named Lancelot persisted into his thoughts, and as much as he wished against it, the memory of his mistakes haunted his days, until he’d randomly appear in his head throughout the day and Vane’s cheeks would explode into a haze of red. He hadn’t meant to hold him like that, hadn’t meant to let his mouth run before his thoughts. 

They barely knew each other beyond their names. Vane had decided he was beautiful, Vane had decided to piece together his past on the bare minimum of hints. It was not like someone like him would be interested in him either way; but the human heart was a strange little thing, and for someone like Vane, whose emotions dedicated his every step, this was the path that he thought he had to take.

Effectively, from that day onward, he began avoiding his usual carriage, as he tried his best to think of a solution to a problem of entirely his own making; even though it felt like something was missing, as if the sun had stopped rising after dark.

It was only going to be temporary. It was only going to be until his heart stopped fluttering at the thought of a stranger he barely knew, even if he was a stranger he very much wanted to befriend.

It wasn’t that long after, on a normal dull day in fact, when Vane stepped onto the platform at his usual stop, only to notice that further down, there was a familiar figure. Suit, curls, book. It was him, Lancelot, wearing glasses for today – and he just caught his eye, and now he was marching right towards him.

“Uh, hey…” Vane managed to say, transfixed to the spot. He had no idea that such clear blue eyes could hold such a storm behind them.

“It’s been a while,” Lancelot said, his lips a thin line.

Vane found his gaze drawn to the ground of his own accord, “Yeah…”

“I haven’t seen you around lately,” Lancelot said, and then Vane noticed him take a step closer, his shoes coming forward, “Is everything alright?”

Vane hesitated before he lifted his head, “How did you find me?”

“This is your usual stop, isn’t it?” Lancelot said.

“You…” Vane mumbled, “Noticed me?”

Lancelot took a moment, his gaze dropping as he chewed his lip, “Even so early in the morning, you always seemed so energetic,” Lancelot replied, “Seeing you… rather brightened my day…” 

Vane stood there in awe. Someone so cute and cool and pretty was capable of blushing too. 

“I’m sorry,” Vane said, “It’s not like I didn’t like you, I just didn’t know what to do. I think I was rude, I shouldn’t have said that. I mean, you are cute – but well, no, cute isn’t the word… Maybe I should stop talking…”

Lancelot remained quiet as he listened; until all his frost melted within an instant, and with a smile as dazzling as snow glittering in the sun, he said in one breathless whisper, “I missed you.”

Vane didn’t – couldn’t – speak, his voice robbed by a charm, and it took him several attempts before he could limply whimper, “Lan-chan…”

“That…” Lancelot recoiled, his face flushing as fast as watercolour on paper, “That… name…”

“Ack!” Vane spluttered, waving his hands to and fro, “It… It just came out! I swear!”

“No,” Lancelot mumbled back, shifting on his feet, “No, it’s… it’s fine. It’s just… somewhat embarrassing.”

Silence hung heavy in the air as they avoided each other’s gaze. On the edge of the train platform, Vane could see into the tunnel their train had left through, the tracks disappearing into an endless darkness. They had the rest of the station to themselves, save for a man in a uniform wandering around a distance away, but there was no crowd to restrict their movement, no one else but themselves in their corner of the world. 

He was right in front of him. He was a blessing from the heavens, a second chance, an opportunity that he had to take.

“Lan-chan-”

“Vane-”

“You first,” Vane said, motioning towards him.

“No, after you,” Lancelot said, with an incline of his head.

“Argh, man,” Vane whined, squirming on the spot with all the frustration in his heart, “My head hurts.”

“A do-over then,” Lancelot said, a brief giggle that melted all the tension in his bones, “It’s nice to meet you.”

“Nice…” Vane gasped, and he grasped onto Lancelot’s hand like a lifeline, “Nice to meet you too!”

Lancelot’s hand was as warm as his smile. There was a pause before he asked, “Do you have the time?”

Vane’s response was so automatic that he had fished out his phone before he had noticed Lancelot’s watch, clear on his wrist. He hesitated a moment, but continued regardless; his phone lighting up as a photo of Mut, his cat, flashed across the lock screen.

“Just gone half past,” Vane answered.

“Then, I have some time,” Lancelot said, “Would you like to sit down?”

Vane followed after him in a daze, perching next to him on a cold, lonely bench. The silence was almost suffocating as he tried to shift through every thought in his head for some kind of conversation topic, but alas he found nothing, and could only stare at his knees. 

“Cute cat,” Lancelot said, his voice like a beacon of light.

“I know, right?” Vane chirped, perking right up, “Mut’s an adventurous little tyke, even though not too long ago, I found him fishing through the bakery scraps in a back alley.” 

“You… picked up a stray?” Lancelot said, his eyes widening.

“Yeah…” Vane said, fidgeting slightly, “Something wrong? I took him to a vet and everything. He should be fine, right?”

“Oh… No, don’t mind me,” Lancelot said, and his smile set him back at ease, “It’s just you and Mut, right?”

Vane caught himself lingering too long on his face, and quickly pulled out his phone again, “Yeah… Yeah! Do you wanna see more pics?”

He was sure it was his imagination, but the bench grew a little warmer as Lancelot edged himself closer. Past the brief flash of his home screen – which was still Mut, but at a slightly different angle – Vane dug into his photos folder, which was filled with nothing but Mut in lots of other angles, alongside the occasional picture of food. He narrated them all to fill the quiet with his chatter, laughing as he reminisced about times long past. 

“And this is when Mut rescued the manager when he locked himself in! He’s so smart! Look at him go!” Vane said, cheering as he went past several consecutive shots of Mut, all in arguably the same position. 

In a moment of clarity, Vane looked up from his phone, only to freeze at the sight of Lancelot staring right at him instead. However, Lancelot didn’t move after he had been caught. He tucked his hair behind his ear, his smile stirring something within him, and all of a sudden, Vane’s chest felt much too tight.

“Cute,” Lancelot said, but he wasn’t looking at Mut.

Vane only stared back: unable to think, unable to process anything but his heartbeat, drumming in his ears. 

“I should get going,” Lancelot whispered, his gaze flicking downwards for a moment.

“Y-Yeah…” Vane said, even though he had no idea what Lancelot had just said.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you…” Vane mumbled back. 

He mimicked his wave in a hollow imitation of the gesture, watched his back retreat into the distance – and that was when something overcame him, like a tidal wave surging within him. He yelled out all the air in his lungs, as loud as the rush of a firework bursting into the sky, “I’ll definitely be there tomorrow, Lan-chan!”

Lancelot spun round on the spot, a grin on his face, clear as a day when the clouds had finally subsided, “Don’t yell that so loudly in public!”

“I can’t help it!” Vane continued yelling, and it felt so good, so refreshing to expel out everything he had kept inside, “Suits you!”

“Look in the mirror!” Lancelot called back, cupping his hands around his mouth, “You’re the one who’s cute!”

Vane froze again, but the tingling had reached his cheeks and he couldn’t stop grinning. He wanted to run to him, hold him, talk to him until the sun came down, as comfortable as if they were childhood friends. Not to be out done in lung capacity, he roared back at the top of his voice, “No, you!”

“You!”

“You!!”

“I’m going to have to tell you to stop being a public nuisance, sir,” a man in a uniform said, appearing suddenly before him with a deep set frown, “It’s 5 in the morning.”

“Oh,” Vane mumbled, all the air deflating out of him like a sad balloon, “Sorry, I’m so, so sorry…”

He could feel his cheeks burning as he stole another glance at Lancelot, and though he couldn’t hear him so far away, the thought of his laughter only fuelled the heat of his face. It must have been a spell, a charm, a compulsion since he had first laid eyes on him; but whatever this all was, he didn’t want to stop.

With another wave, Lancelot took his leave, and Vane went off to work with renewed vigour in his step and butterflies in his stomach.

* * *

“Here,” Vane whispered one morning, handing him a custard bun with carefully shaped cat ears, “Freshly made. Still kinda warm.”

Sat beside him, Lancelot’s gaze flitted between Vane’s wide grin and the bun’s face and whiskers, specially hand drawn using melted chocolate, “How…?”

“Just left it to prove overnight,” Vane said, chuckling as Lancelot cradled the bun in his hands.

“It’s 5am,” Lancelot said, “How many hours did you sleep?”

Vane fidgeted in his seat, “It’s fine.”

“Vane,” Lancelot said, in that special way he always did, the lilt of his voice taking hold of that single syllable and wielding his own name against him.

“A few? Maybe?” Vane said, cursing the betrayal of his reddening cheeks, “I just woke up a bit earlier than usual, don’t worry about me.”

Lancelot didn’t say a thing, but somehow his silence made the frown on his face even worse. He was still the one who broke first, ducking his head down as he remembered the warmth in his hands, and it took Vane a moment to realise what he was doing. A simple tear was all that was necessary to free the custard from within its confines, the bread breaking apart between his thumbs as easily as if it was tissue paper.

“Oh,” Lancelot murmured, before he trapped the escaping custard in a single bite. 

“No, no, eat it all!” Vane yelped, “I made it for you.”

Without the use of his mouth, Lancelot could only stare at him. It was moments like these that made Vane remember a time when he had thought he was too cool to approach; before he had realised how much of a walking disaster he was, forgetting things like pens and buying constant replacements, only to find them again in his pockets. 

He was cuter that way. 

Vane giggled as Lancelot quickly swallowed his mouthful in order to talk, “If you insist…” Lancelot mumbled.

Lancelot resumed what he had started with as much delicateness as he could muster, but it all came crumbling down as his nibbling became ravenous mouthfuls, the bun disappearing within moments as Lancelot happily devoured it.

Vane had to laugh as he watched Lancelot mourn the empty baking paper, “How is it?” he asked after a moment’s pause.

“It’s…” Lancelot whispered, a glimpse of his tongue as he licked the crumbs off his lips, “The best thing I’ve ever eaten.”

“Seriously?” Vane said, jumping up in his seat, “Then, it’s all worth it.”

Lancelot didn’t reply immediately. He took a deep breath, the light from the windows painting his cheeks pink, “What was this all about?”

Vane was quiet. He was far too busy tracing the way the light fell into Lancelot’s face: noting how it framed his features, illuminated his eyes, highlighted his lips. When he finally answered, he whispered, as soft as falling snow, “I’m just glad I met you.” 

Since taking that first step, their mornings had filled with laughter, conversations like old friends trying to reclaim the time they had lost, mourning how they hadn’t talked sooner. Vane had wondered how they would have met in another world, if not by chance like this universe had made it. 

For them, silence was no longer something to be afraid of, an indication of space, a gap to be filled; but held within it, the weight of something unsaid.

“Take a quick nap,” Lancelot finally said, shifting in his seat.

“Huh?” Vane said, like waking up from a dream.

Lancelot motioned at his own shoulder, “Here.”

“I’m bigger than you though,” Vane said, as if it wasn’t obvious.

“It’s fine,” Lancelot said.

Vane didn’t protest any further, settling into the crook of Lancelot’s neck without even a sense of defeat, and all the attempts to make himself comfortable only served to nuzzle him further into him. Lancelot was warm – or at least, that was what Vane told himself, as he listened to the beating of his own heart, drumming along much too fast, in contrast to the rise and fall of Lancelot’s breathing.

“I’ll wake you up before your stop,” Lancelot’s voice said from above.

“Thanks, Lan-chan…” Vane mumbled, and at last, he let himself close his eyes.

It wasn’t until he was teetering on the precipice of sleep did he hear Lancelot whisper, “I should be the one thanking you.”

* * *

“Here… as thanks…” Lancelot muttered one morning out of the blue, which would have given Vane pause, if he wasn’t currently bowled over at how adorable Lancelot looked with his face abloom in red, “If you don’t like them, I have store bought too…”

“You made these for me?” Vane cried, holding the plastic container in his hands like it was a gift from the gods themselves. 

“No, well…” Lancelot pursed his lips, and fidgeted with the ends of his cuffs, “I’m not a baker like you, but I… followed the packet instructions as best I could.”

“I’ll eat ‘em right away!” Vane said all in one breath, ripping open the lid and chomping right down onto the first cookie he could grab – only for his teeth to clash against something that was more rock than food.

“Vane!” Lancelot cried, grabbing hold of a man frozen in shock.

“They’re, uh… They’re a tad overbaked…” Vane gasped, pausing to run his tongue over his teeth. When he realised they were still intact, he braved an additional nibble, and another, and another, “They _taste_ good though… If you get a timer, or maybe you got the oven temp wrong…”

Lancelot’s hand moved up his shoulder, and Vane couldn’t stop the tingle up his spine, “Maybe you could come over and teach me?”

Vane almost choked, “What?”

He couldn’t describe the expression on his face, not as Lancelot leaned in, his voice lowered, “I’ve been told I’m a good student.”

“No, no, not that…” Vane mumbled, conscious of everything: his voice, his touch, his proximity, “Just… your house… is… um…”

“Vane?” Lancelot whispered, and Vane had to stop himself from making a sound he’d regret.

“I… We… It’s a bit fast, isn’t it?” Vane spluttered, cursing how his cheeks were growing in colour with every word that escaped his lips, “I mean, not that I’m implying anything!”

“We should get to know each other then,” Lancelot said, and Vane tried to – really, truly, tried to – avoid looking into his eyes, lest he be lost out to sea, “I’d like to meet your cat too one day.”

He had failed before he had even tried. Vane stared, and found himself lost to the calling of a lifetime, the exploration of a new world, “Are you asking me out?”

In one smooth motion, Lancelot’s hand traced the curve of Vane’s deltoid, his trapezius, the line of his back muscles, until he had settled down at his waist and pulled him in, “More or less.”

Vane didn’t really know when his brain had stopped functioning, but he was now the proud owner of Lancelot's phone number. He had watched him scribble down something onto a piece of paper, let him tuck it underneath his braces, registered he had patted it for good measure. Of course, braces already held up his trousers and a small piece of paper would surely stay too, but maybe Lancelot had thought the paper would have stuck better to his chest that way. He was currently staring at this string of numbers, believing it to be a miracle – or muscle memory – for him to have even wandered down the road to the bakery, when he was brought to his senses as his phone vibrated in his pocket.

He stared, and stared, and stared – but the numbers were right. 

Lancelot was calling him. 

“Hey there,” Lancelot’s voice said the moment Vane had answered. Judging from the pace of his breathing and the chatter in the background, Lancelot had just left his own stop right in the heart of town.

“H-Hey…” Vane managed to squeak out.

“Are you busy this evening?” Lancelot continued, smooth as butter.

Vane pinched his own cheek, “No…”

“Then… There’s a new restaurant I’d like to try,” Lancelot said, “Would you like to come with me?”

“Yeah!” Vane burst out without another thought, “By the Sylph statue? Town square? Outside?”

“Of course,” Lancelot said, and the giggle he heard almost made Vane yell on the spot, “I’ll see you tonight.”

“See you!” Vane shouted, perhaps a little too loudly in public.

The line cut off, and Vane immediately dropped to his haunches, his head buried in his hands. It took every ounce of restraint for him to stop himself screaming in delight; but still, once he was done squealing internally, he jumped right back onto his feet as fast as a cannonball, a grin spread right across his face. He tried to continue on with his walk, but his steps kept going faster, and faster, until he had broke out into a run, and he wanted to scream out all the happiness in his heart, and it bubbled out his mouth as laughter as warm as sunshine. 

Vane tumbled into the bakery that morning, the bells ringing in his arrival, and despite all the teasing from his colleagues, immediately began work on some choux pastry on the side. He could already see the beautiful cream puff swan he was going to make out of butter, water, flour and eggs, and crafted out of all those simple ingredients would be a single message carried upon its wings: a symbol of his everlasting affection.


End file.
